


A Worthy Friend

by Vana



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-series timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-24 20:19:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1615793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vana/pseuds/Vana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt for stannisficartweek was: Stannis meets his squire for the first time and instructs him about his duties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Worthy Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariel2me](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/gifts).



> I posted this story on tumblr months ago, but somehow missed posting it here. This was a birthday gift as well as a prompt fill.

He was an ordinary-looking lad — brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin a shade lighter than the hair — a perfectly, thoroughly ordinary boy. And for that, Stannis was grateful. 

Everyone in his castle seemed to stand out: his wife, whose infamous ears and upper-lip hairs made little impression on Stannis after all this time but whose deeply etched scowl whenever she met him was far harder to look upon. His fool, with the mad, tattooed face and the ridiculous bells and the songs. His brother’s bastard, who looked unnervingly like Renly more than Robert at that age, he of sparkling eyes, mischievous smile and burgeoning muscles. 

And his daughter, the most beautiful girl who ever lived, whose hair shone like gold and eyes warmed the room — but whose skin was all anyone ever mentioned. Scarred, damaged, nearly dead, they said. And Selyse said it the most — said it with her eyes if not her voice. She protected Shireen from the prying eyes as much as possible. She would only kiss Shireen on the unscarred side of her face — not out of disgust, but because that was where the girl could feel the warm press of her mother’s lips. Stannis sometimes wished he could be that considerate, but he never kissed Shireen at all, not even when he believed she was dying and Maester Cressen wept and Selyse wept, and the kitchen girls wept because everyone else was weeping, and only Stannis sat, burning-eyed and hopeless. 

That was all long ago, he thought impatiently, brushing away the cobwebs of memory. The new squire, the son of his Onion Knight, still stood before him with a quiet, encompassing patience he wished his other lords possessed, as aged as they were. _His soul is far older than he is, this Devan Seaworth_ , Stannis said to himself. In the next moment he remembered how many times he had found himself with the same odd impression of Shireen.

But unlike Shireen, there was nothing to tell Davos’ son from any other boy in the kingdom. Of course, his parents would not have thought that, he chided himself. Davos and Marya Seaworth would have found a thousand things to differentiate Devan from his six brothers. Seven sons, Stannis thought, shaking his head slightly. He knew Davos felt ever so faintly uncomfortable with the fact that he himself, a poor man from the filth of Flea Bottom, had fathered seven strong sons and that his lord could father none living, and the child he did have was irreparably different — forever foreign to Stannis’ followers who would someday be hers.

 _For the gods’ sakes, talk to him_. “Welcome,” he said, finally, aware of the long silence between himself and his newest squire. Where was Davos? No, he had sent Davos on an errand — there would be no intermediary, no cushion to shield Devan from all that which made up Stannis Baratheon. Stannis regretted the decision not to have Davos there for that first, official meeting. But this boy would share Stannis’ castle, his quarters, and his food and drink for long after his father had gone home, Stannis supposed. Also, he had had a nagging thought that he may be easier on the boy if Davos were present, and that would be a dereliction of duty Stannis could not abide in himself. So, although he very definitely wished for Davos there now, he must plow ahead.

Devan had said nothing, merely biting back his usual friendly smile — Stannis had seen it with his father — in his attempt to be solemn, as befit the occasion.

“You may address me,” Stannis told him, awkwardly.

“It is an honor to serve you, Lord Stannis,” Devan said on the instant. Then he fell silent again. Stannis had to admire the boy’s economy of words. Perhaps, he thought wryly, Devan would serve out his ten years without the two of them ever speaking.

“It is your father you must thank for the honor,” Stannis said. “And now, have you been apprised of your duties? What do you know of squiring?”

“I will carry your weaponry,” said Devan, “I bring you supplies in battle, I assist you in dressing for fighting, I care for your wounds if your lordship should sustain any, I care for your horse, I carry your flag into the battlefield—”

“Devan,” Stannis interrupted, “you are correct that these are your wartime duties. But we are not at war now,” he gestured around the tomblike quiet of his solar, “so as there are no battlefields on which to bear my standard and no wounds to treat, I will now tell you what your duties to me will be in times of peace.”

“Pardons, my lord,” Devan said. “Of course, my father has—”

Here Devan cut himself off. Whatever he had meant to say was locked behind the unassuming expression now.

“Your father?” Stannis pressed. “Tell me the truth, Devan, as you serve me. What has he said?”

“With my pardons, Lord Stannis,” Devan said. Stannis knew he would be honest. “My father said that, during peacetime, I would need to keep your water fresh and your salt bowl filled. That I would carry your messages and look after the maids to keep your chambers tidy. That I would ensure that you ate enough, and,” here Devan looked desperate, but he had been ordered to speak, “that I must try to keep you from beheading the other lords.” This finished, Devan almost flinched as if expecting a blow, if only a verbal one.

Stannis barked a short laugh and this seemed to alarm Devan as much as if he had shouted. “Your father knows much,” he said. “There will be no need for me to instruct you as long as he is here. He will do it far better than I could.”

“So it’s true about the salt in the water?” Devan said, curious enough to leave off “my lord.”

“It is.”

“How do you drink it that way? Doesn’t it taste…”

“It is unpleasant,” agreed Stannis. “It reminds me of the sea.” He had no wish to discuss this further, but Devan could see his brow darken and changed the subject. 

“My father said your daughter and I are of an age,” the boy said. “But I am not sure I have met the lady — the lady …” He did not remember the name. That was all to the good.

“You will not be required to interact with my daughter,” Stannis said, and his anger flared briefly. “She has a maester and she has her fool.”

“Required?” Devan’s confusion was evident in his voice. “I wasn’t speaking of my duties to you anymore, I am sorry. I only asked because we’re sure to run into each other …”

“Tell me, Devan,” Stannis tried to gentle his tone, “have you seen any young ladies about in this castle?”

“Only one,” Devan said. A smile — so like his father’s! — broke out in spite of himself. “She was lovely.”

“Describe her,” Stannis said. It would be a kitchen wench’s daughter or one of the Florent nieces, but if Devan Seaworth had a fancy for her Stannis must keep an eye on her, and if she was a servant girl he must send her away. _It would not do for my squire to keep that sort of company._

Devan’s eyes found the corner of the room, remembering. “Yellow hair,” he said, “well, that’s not quite right. Darker than yellow, not a common yellow like the girls back home. Lighter than my mother’s…”

“Would you call it golden?”

Devan considered. “I would call it golden, my lord, but not to my brothers.” 

Stannis had to choke back a surprised laugh again. “Do you remember anything else about her?”

“She was in such a hurry,” he said. “She saw me, then ran away. She was shorter than I am and she ran fast, and she had long skirts but she didn’t trip up when she ran.” 

“Did you notice her eyes? Their color?”

“Not their color, my lord, but they were ... they … She looked at me, before she ran, and I knew she would be a friend. She looked like a friend.”

“And her face,” Stannis said. “Did you notice anything about her face?” When Devan hesitated, he knew it was true and Devan had just realized. “Did she have scars on her cheek?”

“Father told me,” Devan said, finally. “But when I saw her I forgot. I thought she looked so nice I didn’t think she might be a proper lady.”

“She is pleasant,” Stannis agreed. “You have, of course, encountered my daughter, the Lady Shireen. But she wouldn’t like you to address her as such.”

“I would think not. She looked too nice for a Lady.”

“Your mother is a Lady now,” Stannis admonished.

“Oh, surely — but not —”

“Not in the same way, you are right, young Seaworth. Shireen is too kind to be a high lady and I imagine your mother is as well. However, it is Shireen’s birthright, and her mother will teach her in time.

“And if you should meet her again,” he went on, “I ask that you be kind as well. She has not many friends, because the greyscale makes them stare, and then she becomes shy and won’t speak to them.”

“I will, my lord,” said Devan. “I do hope — my lord. I hope I meet her again soon.”

Stannis heard the voices of Edric Storm and Maester Cressen, faintly down the corridor toward the south end of the castle. Lessons were over. He knew Shireen’s soft voice would not carry, but — “You are free to go, Devan, for now,” he said, his face betraying nothing. “Go out the south door. You will return this evening with your father. No, I will tell him. Go now,” he said. Devan must leave before Stannis thought to change his mind. They were young, and their stations were different. But he knew that when Devan described his daughter as lovely and friendly, he was honest, like Davos, and he would not gaze overlong at Shireen’s scarred cheek without giving equal attention to the unscathed.


End file.
